The Characters Are My Worst Critics
by falcon-121
Summary: Ever wondered what it would be like if the characters could critique the writer?  Take a gander at this story to find out!   Haven't decided whether this will be a one-shot yet or not, so I'll leave it as in-progress for now .


**AN: Ever wondered what would happen if the characters could talk back to the author? That's the basis behind this little CM one-shot. This is strictly for entertainment/humorous purposes only, so this is not meant to be taken seriously (and don't expect a plot, I'm just writing what comes to my mind). I guess it could be categorized with my other spoofs/parodies, though the format is a bit different. You'll see what I mean in a bit. Special thanks to westpanhead and thn0715 for encouraging me to post this here! *DISCLAIMER* As always, I don't own Criminal Minds. If I did, then this JJ & Em annihilation business would never have been considered. **

It was a sort of weekly ritual between the two of them, something that no one else on the team knew about. They would show up two hours early to work on Friday morning and meet at the self-defense classroom, ready to fight out the frustrations from the previous week.

JJ walked in, dressed in a black sports bra...

"_What the hell, Falc," JJ shouts, turning in the direction of my commentary._

"_What," I ask innocently._

"_I've told you a thousand times," she says, "Writing about me being scantily clad is no better than undressing me with your eyes."_

"_Fine," I groan, picking up my pencil and revising the sentence. _

JJ walked in, wearing a loose, red tank top and black sweatpants. Morgan followed her in, his t-shirt stretched tight by his muscles.

"_Dude," Morgan butts in, "How am I supposed to impress the ladies like that? I don't need a shirt."_

"_I disagree," I state, "Besides, I prefer my female readers – which appear to be most of my fan base – to remain conscious through my fics. Now run along before JJ gets impatient."_

"_I heard that," JJ murmurs._

Morgan had started teaching JJ taekwondo as soon as she joined the team. He didn't understand the necessity at first, but she insisted on learning. As time went on, he was glad he taught her. He wasn't aware of her ever having to use it, but she had found herself in some dangerous situations, so it could come in handy someday. He wasn't ashamed to admit that, after five years of his training, she had become a worthy opponent.

"_When you can take the pebble from my hand," Morgan quips. I ignore him and continue writing._

Their moves were fluid and lightning quick, but graceful. They complimented each other like long-time dance partners performing a tango.

_JJ raises an eyebrow. "Pretty soon he'll be writing us as a couple."_

While she was off-guard, Morgan delivered a swift kick to the side of her head. She wore a helmet, but the force still left her ear ringing.

"Ow," she cried, "Oh, it's on now!"

_I click the fast-forward button._

"_Wimp," Morgan mocks._

"_I don't want to have to rate this 'M' because of violence," I retort._

"_Oh, please," JJ scoffs._

After an hour of quality martial arts action, both agents were tired, but satisfied. Morgan wiped his brow as he headed for the showers. JJ tossed her towel over her shoulder as she went to the locker room.

"_Falc, if you follow me in here, I swear," she warns._

"_I would never," I say indignantly, "Besides, I must be going. Farewell, my love!"_

_She rolls her eyes as I transition to the next scene._

Hotch tightened his tie, examining his ensemble in the mirror.

"_Ahem," Hotch coughs, his eyes menacing._

"_Oh yes," I say, "I apologize."_

Hotch pulled on his favorite fleece, a dark blue one that Haley had bought him for Christmas four years ago. It was a casual day for him and his team, as all Fridays should be. Not having a tie constricting his airway for once was a nice change of pace.

He walked out the door with a strange feeling that he was forgetting something, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

"_Falc," he roars._

"_Alright, alright! I was just kidding! Sheesh!"_

Hotch kissed Jack on the forehead and told him that he loved him before leaving the house.

_Hotch nods his head in approval as he opens the door to his truck._

As he pulled away from the concrete driveway, his mind subconsciously flipped from family to profiling. A small smile faded into a hard line.

"_That's not depressing at all," Hotch says._

"_Well, you've never been a sunshine and rainbows type, man," I respond, "Sorry, but I must be going. Emily Prentiss is calling."_

Emily poured herself a glass of wine, her silk—

"_I do not drink wine in the morning," Emily interrupted, "And how did you get into my apartment?"_

"_Magic," I reply, "But I suppose I can make a revision."_

"_Thank you."_

Emily poured herself a cup of coffee so black that Exxon would confuse it with gasoline.

"_Ew," Emily squeals, "I don't think so!"_

"_Ok, ok. Chill out, woman!"_

Reaching into the cupboard above the coffee maker, she pulled out French Vanilla Coffee-mate. She stirred it with a spoon until the powder dissolved, the drink changing to a creamy caramel color. She sipped it, relishing the feeling of the liquid warming her sore throat.

"_What, so now I'm sick," she snaps._

"_Not necessarily," I argue, "Some people wake up with a dry throat."_

"_I don't."_

"_Whatever! Why do you have to be so picky?"_

_She crosses her arms and stares at me. I sigh, but continue where I left off._

Her long silk robe dragged the ground as she walked to her couch. Taking a seat, she took another sip of her coffee and checked the answering machine.

"No new messages," a robotic voice said.

"_I have friends, you know?"_

"_A little touchy in the mornings, aren't you? You didn't receive any calls. I didn't say that you didn't have friends."_

_She sticks her tongue out at me._

"_I hope you burn that on your coffee."_

_She gasps in feign shock. My nostrils catch a whiff of smoke that carries me to the next agent._

Rossi sat in a cushioned wooden chair, his legs propped up on the desk in front of him. He smoked a Cuban cigar as he read _The Washington Post._

"_For the last time, kid," Rossi bellows, "I'm not part of the mafia. I don't smoke Cubans."_

"_What if they weren't illegal?"_

"_Hell no! I haven't smoked anything in the last twenty years!"_

"_Congratulations."_

"_Thanks! Now leave me alone so that I can read about the Cubbies."_

He sorted through the paper until he located the sports page. His finger slid down the page until he found the score he was searching for. His beloved Chicago Cubs had lost to the Pittsburgh Pirates 4-1.

"_Seriously?"_

"_What? I mean, it is the Cubs. You should be used to losing by now."_

"_But to the Pirates? I mean, c'mon, man!"_

Correction, his beloved Chicago Cubs had lost to the St. Louis Cardinals 4-1.

"_Better," Rossi grunted._

"_Glad you approve."_

Rossi smirked as he scanned the rest of the page. He found nothing else that interested him, so he flicked the paper on the table, stood up, and walked over to the microwave that just started beeping. He opened the door and pulled out his favorite treat.

"_You've gotta' be kiddin' me! How much longer are you going to go with this s'more joke?"_

"_For as long as people are laughing at it."_

_He grumbles to himself, then shrugs and stuffs his face with chocolate/marshmallow goodness. I hear a buzz in the air, and know it can only be one man. If you call him a man, anyway – some people still argue against such an idea._

Dr. Reid sang softly to himself as he was putting on his Hush Puppies.

"You put your left foot in-."

"_First off, I don't sing," Reid whines, "Second off, what kind of song is that?"_

"_You don't know the Hokey Pokey?"_

"_No, and I don't think I want to know, either."_

"_You guys can be such a pain to work with."_

"_Try being the genius that constantly gets teased by both them and you."_

"_Was that an accusation," I ask, brow raised, but I don't wait for a response before continuing._

Fumbling with his shoelaces, Reid was in pure panic mode.

"I'm going to be late, I'm going to be late, I'm going to be late," the young doctor yelled. What he didn't realize was that he actually had an extra hour. Clocks could be so deceptive.

"_I'm not oblivious enough to forget to set my clocks back for the ending of daylight saving time."_

"_That's debatable."_

"_I could explain the entire origin of DST to you."_

"_I'm not convinced."_

_Reid opens his mouth, preparing to enlighten me, but I hold up a hand._

"_I don't have time for such things, kid."_

"_I'm older than you! Shouldn't I be calling you kid instead of the other way around?"_

"_In your dreams, boy wonder," I say, putting on my shades and flying away to the sparkly palace of Penelope Garcia._

Maybe palace is an overstatement, but her apartment was certainly colorful, much like her FBI cubby. Garcia was in front of her bathroom mirror, bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the song in her head. She brushed her hair, blonde with a few neon green streaks on the left side, occasionally misting it with hair spray. Smiling at her reflection, perfectly content with her "new do," she brought the brush close to her lips and belted into song.

"Girls just want to have fun," she sang, tossing the brush into a drawer and skipping toward the door. Today was going to be an especially good day.

_Garcia walks up to me and pats me on the head. _

"_Well done, Falkie Walkie."_

_I almost gag at the childish nickname, but I force a smile. "Thanks, Garci! Glad you approve!"_

"_Tu es le bienvenu, monsieur" she exclaims as she skips out the door._

"_Right back at ya'."_

She continued to skip down the stairs until she reached her old convertible. She leaped over the door – that's right, because Garcia is superhuman like that – and into the driver's seat, inserting the key into the ignition, her tires screeching as she raced toward the horizon.

**AN: Of course Garcia would be the supportive one, right? :) Don't ask what spurred this on. It just sort of came to me, so I've stayed up for about two hours extra to start and finish it. Hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know if I should continue it or leave it as a one-shot.  
**


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